


and it hurts with every heartbeat

by ktlsyrtis



Category: Holby City
Genre: Angst, Break up sex, F/F, I mean it, Post Episode: The Right Sort of Animal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 06:03:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16989417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktlsyrtis/pseuds/ktlsyrtis
Summary: Serena feels like she’s tearing apart at the seams, as if at any moment her chest will crack open wide and the shattered pieces of her heart will spill out, tenses all of her muscles just to keep herself together, to stop herself from screaming.





	and it hurts with every heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

> So, I guess I have some feelings that I needed to get out before I can move forward. Please mind the tags and take care of yourselves. Not everyone processes by wallowing like I do, lol
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _we could keep trying_  
>  _but things will never change_  
>  _so I don't look back_  
>  _still I'm dying with every step I take_  
>  _but I don't look back_  
>  _-["with every heartbeat" by micadelia](https://open.spotify.com/embed/track/1dIqwkMMNYDR1krTE7F1DZ)_

The taxi speeds down the street, the lights of Holby little more than nebulous smears of color as Serena stares sightlessly out the grimy window, hands gripped together tightly in her lap. Her thumb worries at a patch of dry skin on her knuckle, skinned against who knows what, as she tries to keep at bay the tears that have been threatening for hours.

She feels like she’s tearing apart at the seams, as if at any moment her chest will crack open wide and the shattered pieces of her heart will spill out, tenses all of her muscles just to keep herself together, to stop herself from screaming.

Her therapist’s words come back to her, and she forces a shuddering breath into her lungs, tries to ground herself. Eyes flitting around the taxi’s interior, she counts five things _(cabbie’s ID, air freshener, credit card machine, rearview mirror, ad for a new restaurant)_ , shifts her focus to what she can feel _(cold vinyl seats, heat pouring from the vent, soft wool, the small bones of her hands shifting under her own grip)_ , the sounds around her _(tires thrumming across the pavement, some pop song she’s never heard, her own unsteady breath)_.

It’s just enough to get her through, and by the time she starts cataloging smells _(cold winter air, cigarette smoke)_ the cab pulls to a stop outside of her house. 

The door shuts behind her and for a moment she slumps back against it, drained in a way she hasn’t been since Elinor. She thinks about just letting go, sliding to the floor and crying right here, but she knows her body won’t thank her for it come morning. The tenuous restraint on her emotions that she’s been clinging to so desperately slips for a moment, a ragged sob escaping her as her mind once again plays the sight of Bernie walking out of Albie’s on an unending loop.

 _Almost there_ , she tells herself, marshalling her dwindling reserves. It had taken almost everything she had to paste a smile on her face at the reception, to be happy for Jason and Greta, to pretend that her entire world wasn’t crumbling around her, but she’s already done enough damage to those she loves, she refused to let anything tarnish Jason’s day.

Halfway up the stairs, for the first time she thinks of tomorrow. Pictures waking in an empty bed, telling Jason that Bernie’s gone, that she’s not coming back. The pain of it almost cuts her legs out from beneath her and she has to grasp the banister to keep from collapsing, the emptiness inside her yawning so wide she fears it may swallow her whole.

Vision blurred with tears, she makes her way the bedroom, confused to find the room filled with light. She could’ve sworn she turned them off on her way out, then remembers how jittery and on edge she’d been, trying to act like nothing was out of the ordinary, to avoid Bernie’s all too knowing eyes.

Her foot hits something and she stumbles, looking down. There’s an open duffle bag on the floor, clothes hastily shoved into it. She can see the cuff of a pair of black jeans, far skinnier than anything she would own.

“Oh.”

Bernie stands frozen in the ensuite doorway, a bulging toiletries bag in her hands. She’s still wearing her slim black suit trousers, though the jacket has been discarded, leaving her in a soft looking vest, upper arms so much paler now than her face. 

Seeing her here, in _their_ bedroom, is like a blow to the diaphragm and Serena feels it like a physical pain. She knows she should say something, but she can’t catch her breath, is afraid of what might come out if she were to open her mouth.

“I didn’t think you’d...” Bernie takes a hesitant step forward. Without the light directly behind her, Serena can see her red-rimmed eyes, the subtle tracks of salt on her cheeks. “I was just getting my things. I- I should probably go…” she says, moving toward the door.

“No!” Reaching out, Serena just stops herself from grabbing Bernie’s arm, her hand hovering in midair. “No, Bernie, it’s fine. Please.”

They both stand stock still, eyes locked, until Bernie sags a bit, nods her head and looks away. A strange sense of relief flooding her, Serena steps back as Bernie moves toward the duffle bag on the floor, crouching down over it. She wraps her arms over her stomach, fingers digging hard into her flesh, the throb of pain the only thing keeping her from begging Bernie to stay.

“I, uh, I thought you would still be at the reception,” Bernie says, hair falling across her face as she tucks the satchel into her luggage.

“Yes, well, I guess I didn’t feel much like celebrating.” Serena means to say it lightly, wants so badly to not do anything that might make this harder for Bernie, but her voice is thick and wet and cracks a bit at the end. Bernie looks up at her sharply, and the care and sorrow in her beautiful eyes are almost more than Serena can bear.

Bernie stands slowly, rubbing her hands a bit on the front of her thighs, her voice edging unbearably close to pity. “Serena, I-”

“ _Please_ ,” Serena says, anguished, hot tears finally spilling down her face, “please don’t. I can’t-” She needs to leave, is all she can think, needs to get away from Bernie before she says something they’ll both regret.

Faster than she can move to the door, Bernie crosses the room, wraps Serena in her strong arms, holding her in place. 

It’s too much.

Serena crumples against Bernie’s chest, ugly sobs wracking her body, everything she’s been holding back coming flooding out of her like a tidal wave, unstoppable now that it’s begun. The fact that after everything she’s done, Bernie — brave, beautiful Bernie — is there to comfort her only compounds her shame, makes her cry all the harder.

Eventually the tears slow to a trickle. The release leaves Serena feeling a little light headed, her throat raw as she lifts her head from where she’d buried it in the crook of Bernie’s neck. There are tears on Bernie’s face too as they stay in each other’s arms, both breathing unevenly.

For a moment, just a moment, Serena wishes she loved Bernie less. Enough that she could bring herself to be selfish, to ask her to stay.

And Bernie would, if she asked. Serena knows it in her bones, the way she also knows it would eventually destroy them.

She’d tried to couch the blow in lighter terms at Albie’s, talked of not being able to picture Bernie in house slippers, waiting at home at the end of the day. It’s a lie. She can picture it easily, can picture how blissful her life would be with Bernie at her side every day so vividly it’s almost tangible.

But she knows Bernie, knows her maybe better than anyone. She knows how loyal she is to those she loves, how she’s spent her whole life breaking herself against the expectations of others. At the end of the day, Serena loves her too much to be another person Bernie sacrifices everything for. It’s her turn to sacrifice.

Bernie’s thumbs brush along Serena’s cheekbones, wiping away the tears that linger there, everything that they don’t know how to say filling the space between them. She sees the moment something in Bernie shifts, can practically feel the hitch of her breath in her own chest, knows that she should stop this. She doesn’t.

If she has to let Bernie go, she can at least be selfish enough to give herself this.

Bernie lips are soft and perfect against her own, like always, and the way they fit feels like coming home. Serena lets herself forget, for one blissful moment, loses herself in the kiss, in Bernie. Her fingers tangle in Bernie’s hair, and she feels hands grip tighter against her back as Bernie’s tongue slips into her mouth.

They make their way to the bed, hands fumbling between them, shedding a trail of clothing as they go. Bernie’s hands are hot and demanding on her skin, but Serena pushes them away, pins Bernie beneath her with a look. 

She visits all of the places she loves best as she makes her way down Bernie’s taut body. Lingers long enough to memorize the exact texture where her smooth skin transitions to raised scar tissue over her sternum, the way her dusky nipples pucker against Serena’s tongue, follows a lazy trail along a meandering path of freckles and moles, paying special attention to her favorites. Serena immerses herself in Bernie, in her taste, the sounds she makes, drinks deep of her in the hope that it will somehow sustain her when Bernie’s gone.

Dipping her head between Bernie’s trembling thighs, Serena licks slow and deep, tries to convey the words that are lodged in her chest through touch alone as Bernie writhes beneath her. Each flick and swirl of her tongue saying _I love you_ and _always_ and _forever_.

Hands pull sharply at her hair as Bernie comes with a hoarse cry, the burn only serving to spur her on. She slips two fingers into Bernie, can still feel the muscles fluttering as she builds her up again. Nothing can make up for the pain Serena has caused, but she can give Bernie this, can send her away with at least one good memory of their time together. 

A quirk of her fingers and a firm flick of her tongue sends Bernie over the edge again, and she only lets up when Bernie pushes weakly at her shoulders, voice cracking as she says “Enough.” 

Serena slips back up the bed, head on her pillow as she watches Bernie catch her breath. Laying a few inches away, Serena doesn’t reach across the gap between them, doesn’t gather Bernie into her arms as she normally would. She feels suddenly shy, afraid of asking too much, of making things worse, and the light from the bedside lamp shimmers and fractures as her eyes blur with tears.

“Serena?” Fingers brush against the ridge of her hip unexpectedly, and Serena flinches away. Bernie frowns a bit, concerned, but doesn’t pull back. Instead she slowly eases her hand against Serena’s skin, like a handler with a skittish animal. “It’s okay.”

Serena’s breath hitches in her chest, tears threatening to spill over anew. It’s not okay. She doesn’t deserve Bernie’s touch, the love in her eyes, the chance to lose herself in this. But, _oh_ , she wants it, wants it with every fiber of her being, can feel the arousal thrumming through her body.

“Please, Serena,” Bernie says, shifting closer, her hand sliding up over Serena’s ribs, around to trail along the bumps of her spine, making her shiver. “Please, let me touch you. Can I?” 

She’s too weak to deny herself, to deny them both, her traitorous body already arcing toward Bernie’s touch. 

Tears slide down Serena’s cheeks unnoticed as Bernie moves over her, her skin already tight and raw from crying, Bernie’s lips feather light as they brush away the moisture. She wants to preserve this in her memory forever; Bernie’s eyes, wide and dark, blonde hair falling around her face like a curtain, trailing across Serena’s chest as she mouths her way down the straining tendon of her neck.

Every nerve ending comes to life beneath Bernie’s touch, just like the first time, like every time. A part of her wishes Bernie would be rough, take what she wants from Serena’s body, thinks the sharp edge of pain is what she deserves, what something in her craves.

Instead, Bernie is gentle, achingly tender as she maps Serena’s body with her hands and her mouth, and Serena gives herself over to it, let’s the pleasure flow over her like warm honey. Tries to ignore the way Bernie’s hands tremble, linger like they too wish to memorize this, the drops of wetness that splash against her skin. 

Pleasure builds in her, faster than she anticipates, filling her to the brim. It’s never been like this with anyone else, and she knows with absolute certainty it never will be again. Serena comes around Bernie’s fingers with a ragged sob, shuddering as Bernie murmurs indistinct words of comfort against her skin.

Eventually the pleasure ebbs, leaves Serena feeling exposed and exhausted. She thinks about leaving, going to find her dressing down and pulling herself together somehow, but Bernie isn’t having it. Before she even finishes the thought, Serena finds herself wrapped up in those lanky arms, Bernie’s naked body tucked seamlessly against her own. 

Now that the fervor has passed, they lay together in silence, each uncertain where to go from here. Serena closes her eyes, cheek pressed to Bernie’s chest, her heatbeat thrumming steadily beneath her ear, and tries to stop herself from clinging too tightly, from asking anything more of Bernie.

She want to say something to make this easier, to let Bernie know that she’ll be okay. When she opens her mouth, her good intentions get lost somehow and only the truth remains.

“You’re the love of my life,” Serena says softly, feels Bernie’s sharp intake of breath beneath her cheek. “You do know that, don’t you?”

“I do.” Bernie’s voice is thick with tears and it breaks Serena’s heart all over again. “And you’re mine, Serena. For eternity.”

“Promise me you’ll be happy?” It’s all she wants, in the end, for Bernie to have some happiness in her life. One of them should.

Bernie doesn’t reply. Serena hears her swallow hard, feels Bernie nod, a lingering kiss pressed against her silver hair.

She doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but the day has left her wrung out and hollow, and the comfort of Bernie’s embrace is too great. Serena fades, lulled by Bernie’s warmth, her steady breath, dreams filled with images of love and laughter, incandescent with joy.

...

Serena wakes, the first rays of dawn filling the room with cold grey light. She knows without looking that the bed beside her is empty, that Bernie is gone.

Alone in her bedroom, Serena buries her face in her pillow and lets the tears fall.


End file.
